


nice is just a place in france

by Bellelaide



Category: Football RPF, women’s football RPF
Genre: F/F, WWC 2019, england nt, lionesses, women’s World Cup 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: “You’re going to be amazing. We’re going to be amazing.”“How do you know?”Millie looked at her. She wanted to say because you’re you, because we’re us, because you look how you do in that white shirt with your hair pulled up and those fucking eyes that really don’t need to be as big as they are. Instead, she shrugged. “Just got that feeling.”





	nice is just a place in france

No one could’ve prepared them for the intensity of the World Cup. 

People tried, of course - the England staff sat them down individually; their own agents and teams briefed them on how things would explode during the tournament. 

They all listened and nodded and said yes and okay and I get it at the right moments, but really everyone was too excited to care. They were off to France for a month of playing for England, and scare stories about the press and social media and heightened expectations couldn’t get rid of the thrill all 23 of the Lionesses were experiencing. 

Millie’d been electric since she got the call up in May. She’d shouted until she was hoarse, cried with her mum and dad, gotten wasted with her friends. She texted Rachel the next day, a subtle planet Earth emoji and a question mark, and Rachel had sent back the words I got the call up, followed by 23 dancing girl emojis. 

Millie had screamed into her pillow, legs thudding against the mattress. God, this was going to be so fucking good. She found out about who the rest of the squad would be through messages and phone calls and the grape vine. They had a good team, solid and familiar with each other. She could feel that they were going to make history. 

The days building up to the tournament were charged with anticipation and fire, as international duty always was, but it felt markedly different this time. This wasn’t just any tournament, it was the fucking World Cup. It was the chance to show the men’s team how it was done; the opportunity to represent their country somewhere that it really, really mattered. 

Millie didn’t realise that it wasn’t just her who felt the charge in the air until she got to St George’s and met up with the rest of them. 

“Don’t you feel it?” Alex said to her in the lobby as they waited for their opening meeting with Phil. “It’s different this time, like.” 

“I wasn’t there in 2015, was I?” Millie said, taking a sip of her tea. “Don’t World Cups always feel like this?” 

Alex shrugged. “People actually care this time. Cos of the lads last year, I think. People are watching us now. Different, innit?” 

Millie considered that as Alex headed off after Ellen and Steph. When she thought about it, she _had_ gained more followers on Instagram over the last couple of weeks, and she’d been recognised in Tesco last weekend, which had never happened before. She didn’t want to dwell on that though; didn’t want to turn her excitement into nerves, into pressure. 

Millie was dragged from her thoughts by her phone screen lighting up in her hand. It was a text from Rachel, saying she was half way there. Rachel had flown in from Texas two days ago and had been seeing her family before heading down to SGP. It was weird texting her from the same time zone, not having to wait until the afternoon before Rachel was replying; not staying up ridiculously late just because she didn’t want to waste any time they had to speak. 

Millie shot off a quick reply and tried to hide her grin in her cup. Maybe the circumstances were different this time around, but she didn’t care. They were the same - the girls, the Lionesses, their talent. As long as they had each other, the outside pressure didn’t mean anything. 

*** 

The initial moments when they were reunited never got old. 

Millie went careening into Rachel at top speed, not caring that she was carrying multiple boot bags and a heavy back pack and her phone and a Starbucks cup. Millie wrapped her arms around Rachel and swung her in a circle, nosing at her hair discreetly. Rachel smelled like football to Millie - like three lions, like grass and shampoo and suncream, like happiness. 

“Nice of you to show up,” she said, setting her back down on the ground and grinning. “Trump land can get fucked.” 

Rachel rolled her eyes fondly and carried her boots over to the big container waiting for them. “They did ask me to play for the US in the tournament, but I said there was someone I couldn’t let down. I just couldn’t do it to Phil.” 

“Shut up. Same room as last time,” Millie said, holding open the door. “Need a hand with those bags?” 

** 

People always said they were joined at the hip, but people didn’t understand what it was like having your best friend live on another continent for the best part of the year. 

Being together again was like no time had passed. They dumped Rachel’s bags in their shared room and wasted no time in joining up with the rest of the squad. Millie hovered as everyone greeted Rachel, asking her how it felt being home and how things were in Texas. It was never long before Millie had an arm around Rachel’s shoulders again, a hand on her arm. Distance was terrible, and she’d never take the ability to be close for granted. 

Phil’s opening remarks were uplifting and funny but serious. He wanted to win this, because of course he did; but it was also clear that he truly believed they actually could. He spoke rousingly, fiercely - let’s show them how it’s done, guys, he said. Let’s bring it home. 

Then it was time to get boots on and start practicing. It was mainly for social media’s benefit, but it was still fun being back on the pitch together. There was just something about being together as England that hit differently - the banter was better, the passes cleaner, the drive stronger. Being on England duty felt like being given a new lease of life. 

Millie smiled as Rachel shot one in at the other end of the pitch, launching herself into the air with a jubilant fist pump. In the second she allowed herself to be distracted, though, Alex kicked the ball right between her open legs, whooping jubilantly. 

“Fucker!” Millie shouted, setting off after her. “Get back here!” 

** 

Millie spent the rest of the evening in a quiet state of anticipation. 

Being with Rachel was like second nature, was as instinctive as being alone, but this time things were a little different. They hadn’t spoken about it, what had happened over Rachel’s Christmas visit home, and Millie didn’t really... want to. 

Things had moved on like normal - they’d still FaceTimed and messaged each other daily and tagged each other in stupid memes on Facebook. There was a couple of days in which Millie wasn’t sure things would go back to how they’d been before, but then Rachel had texted her saying ‘omg my period’s late it’s immaculate fukin conception’ and the world had kept on turning. 

Millie thought about it again at dinner as she watched Rachel laugh and spoon jelly into her mouth, shaking her head fondly at a story Nikita was telling. Millie thought about the way Rachel’s face had looked, her nose red with the nippy December air, her eyes so deeply sad. _’I’m not - I’ve been - back in the States. I’ve been seeing someone.’_ Millie thought she was taking the piss at first, because they spoke every day and how could she not have mentioned that? That she was seeing someone? The question must’ve been on Millie’s face because then Rachel was saying it’d all happened fast, one of her team mates, Kristie Mewis, and she’d meant to tell Millie, honestly. 

Millie mentally scolded herself. Remembering the moment was like picking at a scab and making it bleed again. It wasn’t constructive, wasn’t useful, didn’t serve any purpose. It was as self destructive as all the time Millie had spent staring at photos of Kristie and comparing herself - the girl was blonde and pretty and skinny and tall and fucking unreal, frankly. She made Millie feel like a dumpy disaster, made her resent her big thighs and arms and habit of piling her hair on top of her head like a bird’s nest. She’d tried straightening it for a week, wearing makeup, but it didn’t stick. It just wasn’t her. 

Millie was still ruminating when people started getting up from the table, talking about congregating in Steph’s room and doing face masks, which. It wasn’t really Millie’s thing. She wondered briefly if Rachel would go with them, if she’d take the out, but one look and Millie knew she wasn’t going to do that. 

They got in the lift with the rest of the girls, going their separate ways when the doors opened on the player’s floor. Millie held open the door for Rachel, a quietness having settled over them. It wasn’t awkward, necessarily, but it wasn’t fully comfortable either. Rachel unzipped her suitcase and started unpacking, humming under her breath. She was the kind of person who did that, unpacking even if just for one night. Millie toed off her trainers and collapsed down on her bed, dragging her eyes away from the curve of Rachel’s calves as she stretched to put something on the top shelf of the wardrobe. 

“Everyone keeps saying it’s different this time,” Rachel said after a few moments. “Like, international duty.” 

“Yeah, I heard that earlier. Think I’m gonna stay off social media, like. Don’t want to let it get in my head.” 

Rachel lay down on her own bed, sighing happily and stretching out her arms. “Course it’s different. It’s 2019, they sell tops in New Look with the word feminist on. Everyone wants to pretend they’re fans of the women’s game now.” 

Millie hummed. She didn’t really know much about feminism, hadn’t gone to uni like Rachel had, but Millie trusted whatever she said. “People feel guilty. Like, feel like they need to overcompensate by singing Three Lions at us,” 

“Oh my god, I know -“ 

“And it’s like, it’s not your fault girls sport isn’t rammed down your throat from birth like with the lads. Chill out.” 

“People are so fucking annoying.” 

“I know. Liked it better when no fucker came to see us at all.” 

“Liked it better when people thought I were a wag.” 

“Liked it better when -“ 

“I’m fucking shitting it, Mill.” 

Rachel wasn’t joking anymore, her eyebrows pulling up the way they did when she was on the verge of tears. Millie swallowed, unsure of what to say. Usually she’d give her a cuddle and soothe her physically but she didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, not if Rachel was seeing someone.

“You’re going to be amazing. We’re going to be amazing.” 

“How do you know?” 

Millie looked at her. She wanted to say _because you’re you, because we’re us, because you look how you do in that white shirt with your hair pulled up and those fucking eyes that really don’t need to be as big as they are._ Instead, she shrugged. “Just got that feeling.” 

“What if we crash out the group stages?” 

Millie would be lying if she said she hadn’t been worrying about the same thing. It wasn’t just England they were carrying, it was the weight of their gender too - it was women’s sport. It was little girls getting equal chances. It was a fuck you to every man who commented on their Instagram page saying ‘shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?’ She couldn’t say that, though, because she was Millie and she was solid and she was always okay. People needed her to be okay. “You know what? No one knows who we are anyway. Fuck it.” 

Rachel paused, but then she smiled, a real one that reached her eyes. Millie grinned back, thinking - we’re having a moment - and then Rachel picked up her pillow and lobbed it across the room, smacking Millie in the face with a satisfied shriek. 

** 

Nice was unreal. 

It was postcard beautiful, all pink flowers and azure sea and orange buildings. Millie watched out the window on the coach to the hotel in fascination, wondering if she’d ever been anywhere as beautiful as this in her life. Probably not. 

“Isn’t this were Mr Bean come on his holidays?” 

Millie turned around and looked at Rachel incredulously. “What?!” 

“Mr Bean’s holiday?!” 

“How would I know?” 

Leah popped up from the seat in front of them. “You’ve never seen Mr Bean, Brighty?” 

“No, I’ve -“ 

“Mr Bean’s Holiday is set in fucking Cannes,” Toni said from behind them. “Not Nice.” 

“Brighty’s never seen it.” 

“Is this something yous are proud of? Knowledge of Mr Bean movies?” 

“How can you play for England when you haven’t even seen Mr Bean? Phil! We’ve got an imposter!” Rachel shouted, standing up in her seat. 

“Fuck off,” Millie laughed, pulling her back down by her T-shirt. “You’re an idiot.” 

“I don’t think I can be friends with you anymore, Brighty.” 

For a brief, fleeting nanosecond, Millie thought _friends don’t want to do to each other what I want to do to you._ Instead, she said “Good. Someone else can deal with you from now on.” 

Rachel nipped her for that, hand snaking behind Millie’s arm and squeezing the tender skin there. Millie yelped and elbowed her back but the coach was pulling up to the hotel and Rachel was up and out of her seat, full of barely contained energy and her eyes glinting with menace. 

Millie watched her blonde pony tail swish down the aisle and touched her fingertips to the dull pain in the back of her arm, allowing herself a split second to lament the fact that eventually she’d stop feeling the ache. 

** 

The hotel was lavish, but as they weren’t the men’s first team, rooms were doubled up again. 

None of them were complaining. It was better even, not having time to be alone with your thoughts, to let your imagination run wild. Having your roommate there was like having stand in family. 

When they got into their room, Millie dropped her bags at her feet and went to inspect the enormous bathroom, peering out the windows at the sea. It was one of the nicest places she’d ever been, a far cry from holidays to Skeggers as a kid. 

“Holy shit,” she said, looking in awe at the numerous shower functions. “This is unreal.” Millie adjusted her bun in the bathroom mirror and frowned. “Daly?” 

When she received no response, Millie returned to the bedroom. She expected to find Rachel engrossed in her unpacking rituals but instead she was sat on the edge of one of the two beds, hands folded between her thighs, staring into space. 

“Daly?” 

Rachel looked up at Millie like she hadn’t even noticed her, startling a little bit. Millie had to bite the inside of her cheek to quell the overwhelming urge to take Rachel into her arms. 

“You okay?” 

Rachel smiled and nodded, but it didn’t seem authentic. “Sorry. Just - bit homesick.” 

Millie wanted to ask if that meant she was homesick for Texas or for Kristie, but she knew she wouldn’t like the answer either way. She was strangely offended in a narcissistic way, offended because so much of Rachel and their routine represented home and familiarity and safeness for Millie. It wasn’t the first time, Millie thought, that her feelings for Rachel hadn’t been reciprocated. 

“Oh,” was all she said, putting her hands in her pockets petulantly. “Oh right.” 

Rachel sighed and cocked her head. “Mill, I -“ 

They were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. Millie jumped to answer it, stepping the few paces to the door and pulling it open like a life line. Kiera and Leah were stood there, both of them smiling like kids. 

“How sick is this!” Kiera said, pushing past Millie and heading off to inspect their room. 

Leah frowned. “You alright?” 

Millie swallowed and nodded. “I’m - yeah. It’s nothing. I’m good.” 

“Sure?” 

Millie opened her mouth to respond and Keira was back, pulling Rachel behind her. 

“Come on, you two. Everyone’s going out for a walk about before dinner.” 

Millie watched as Rachel slid by her in silence. She looked at Leah once more, before looking away with a slow blink. “Don’t ask,” she said, making sure she had a key and letting the door click shut behind her. “Cos I don’t have any answers.” 

“I’m always here, you know that.” 

Millie nodded. “I know. Thanks, Leah.” 

They joined Rachel and Kiera at the lifts, and Ellen and Steph were close behind, greeting them excitedly. Millie didn’t look at Rachel as they all crammed into the mirrored elevator, her eyes fixed firmly on her feet. Maybe things were going to be awkward after all, after her stupid Christmas attempt at making things happen. _you know what mistletoe means, Daly?_ Maybe she’d fucked things up after all. Maybe it was - 

The lift doors opened on the reception with an obnoxious ding. As they began filtering out, Rachel moved in close and put her arm through Millie’s, squeezing tight. 

“Odds on Phil crying tonight?” She whispered, nodding over at where Phil was holding court with the goalies. 

It was an olive branch, an offering. Millie took it with both hands. “Tenner he’s sobbing by the main course.” 

Rachel turned her face up then, looking at Millie gratefully. A silent thank you. Millie watched as she bounced off after Nikita, seemingly deciding to put whatever that was upstairs behind her. Millie put her own feelings to the back of her mind, and went after them. 

** 

Dinner was a constant stream of noise, as excited as they all were. They’d been placed in a large room at the back of the restaurant and no one could stay in their seat, all moving up and down the length of the table to chatter to each other animatedly. 

It was a set menu, plenty of chicken and veg and lots of croutons, for some reason. Phil didn’t cry until after the mains had been cleared away, and Rachel let her thigh hit against Millie’s under the table. 

“Ten quid,” she whispered. “Pay up.” 

“You don’t even use sterling,” Millie grumbled. “I’ll give you ten euro.” 

“Cop out,” Rachel said, but she was laughing. “You’re the worst.” 

They filtered out of the restaurant and walked along the sea front back to the hotel. The sun was low in the sky, everything quiet but for the sound of their chatter. They were all quietly confident for tomorrow’s game. Phil believed they could top their entire group easily, and that belief was infectious. 

Millie couldn’t stop laughing the entire way home, her stomach aching with it. The awkwardness of earlier had dissipated, and now she felt easy and light. Rachel was right by her side, laughing just as freely at the story Karen was telling them. 

No matter what happened, Millie thought, nothing could take away moments like this - being together, full of hope and optimism. They felt untouchable because of who they were, the country on their shirt. It made Millie light headed. 

Things got quieter between them as they headed down the corridor to their room. Millie glanced at Rachel as she opened the door, wondering if she was going to shut down again. Maybe she wanted to FaceTime her girlfriend and didn’t know how to ask for privacy; maybe she just wanted to go to sleep and not have to deal with the way Millie looked at her. 

“You want me to give you some space?” Millie blurted suddenly, unable to keep it in. “If you need to phone anyone or that -“ 

“What? No,” Rachel said quickly, looking up at her with a frown. “I don’t want to be on my own. Do you want space?” 

“No, god,” she answered, flicking the lamp on between their beds. “I just thought you might.” 

Rachel started unpacking and Millie went off to brush her teeth. She stuck on an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts and redid her bun before falling into bed, sighing blissfully. It was all duck feather pillows and marshmallow mattress, and she knew getting out of it in the morning was going to be brutal. She watched Rachel take her wash bag into the bathroom and fucked around on her phone for a bit as she waited, yawning once or twice. 

Rachel came out of the bathroom with her hair loose and fluffy, wearing a sports bra and her knickers. Millie put her phone down on the beside unit and pulled the covers up to her nose, willing herself not to stare. Rachel looked unhappy again, her features pinched unnaturally. Millie didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to know, but also wanted so badly to make her happy that she could’ve cried with it. 

“Wanna talk?” She tried, her voice shaky and unsure. 

Rachel shook her head as she got into her own bed, the sound of her legs whispering against the sheets the only noise filling the room. 

“Kay,” Millie said, reaching out and turning off the light. “I’ve set an alarm for seven.” 

“Thanks,” Rachel said in a small voice. “Night, Brighty.” 

Millie lay back against the pillows and bit her lip. The hotel was silent, the occasional hum of a car engine passing by outside. It was only nine at night, and although she’d been sleepy at dinner Millie felt wide awake now. She considered going and knocking on Leah’s door and asking her for some advice, when - 

“Move up,” Rachel said suddenly, throwing back her sheets and moving across the space between their beds. “Fuck sake.” 

Millie moved back towards the other side of the bed, frowning in confusion as Rachel got under the covers, lying down with her back to Millie and letting out an exaggerated breath. 

“Can you just like... play with my hair or something?” She asked quietly. 

It took Millie a second to decide that she wasn’t hallucinating. She inched closer and stretched out a hand, picking up a handful of Rachel’s hair and twisting it round her fingers. She felt the tension melt out of Rachel’s spine as she worked, felt her shiver when Millie rubbed at the base of her skull. 

“Feels like I shouldn’t be here,” Rachel said eventually, voice slow with sleep. 

Millie cleared her throat before she dared try to speak. “Shouldn’t be where?” 

“Like, with the squad. Playing for England.” 

Millie’s hand stilled, and Rachel shifted backwards a bit, signalling for Millie to continue what she was doing. “Because what, you live in America? So fucking what -“ 

“Nah, just - well, yeah. I dunno. I dunno why they called me up. Feel like a place holder sometimes.” 

Millie sat up then, her heart thumping in her chest. “What the fuck are you talking about? Jesus, Rach,” she said, turning Rachel onto her back so that could peer down at her face through the dark. “A place holder? That’s not true. It’s not. It’s just not.” 

“Feels like I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove myself to England and now I’m here and the pressure and like. Feels like I cant breathe.” 

Millie put her hand on Rachel’s cheek and moved her thumb back and forward reassuringly. “You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. We’re here to have fun, yeah? None of it matters, not any of it. You’re a fucking sick footballer, and this team needs you. Is that - is this what was wrong? Earlier?” 

Rachel nodded against Millie’s hand, and she brought her own up to sit atop it, her fingers sitting over Millie’s. “Everyone has a role, and like, I dunno. Feels like I’m on the outside looking in.” 

Millie’s heart ached in her chest. Rachel was so wrong, had gotten it so wrong, but of course she felt this way - of course she felt like an outsider, the girl who’d been shunned by England after an abysmal under 17s campaign, the girl who’d run off to America to find her place and had found it, but at that exact moment was called home by a sport that was suddenly interested. She felt alienated and alone and yet here she was, in Millie’s bed, their hands clutched together, her hair splayed out against the pillows. It would’ve been so easy to kiss her - lean down and press their lips together, put kisses on her neck, bite down on her collar bones. Millie had thought it’d be so easy to do the same thing six months ago, though. And look how that’d ended up. 

“You know we all fucking adore you. Phil wouldn’t have called you up if he didn’t believe in you, alright? I’m not saying that as your friend. It’s the truth.” 

Rachel nodded again. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’m just nervous, I think.” 

“Me too,” Millie said, settling back down again. “Shitting my pants.” 

Rachel turned over onto her shoulder once more, and Millie continued playing with her hair until her breathing regulated and it was clear she was asleep. The last thing she remembered was the sound of an airplane, flying low and loud over their heads. 

**

The alarm rang shrilly at seven on the dot. Millie started, disorientated and sleepy, and it took her a moment to realise that the weight on top of her was another human. 

Rachel was snoring against her neck, apparently immune to the sound of the alarm. Millie spat out a bit of Rachel’s hair and grimaced, rolling gently so that she could reach over and turn off the alarm. 

Rachel landed back on the mattress with a thud. “Hey,” she grumbled, trying to pull the duvet over her head. “Rude.” 

“Time to get up,” Millie said, stretching out her arms and looking around the room. “Football won’t come home without us.” 

Rachel snorted from her blanket cave. “Get us a coffee, please.” 

“Fuck off. Get your own,” Millie grinned, getting up and padding into the bathroom. “What did your last slave die of?” 

“My last slave is still alive, she’s just lazy,” Rachel yawned, and Millie rolled her eyes and she stepped into the luxurious shower. 

It was game day, and nothing was going to stand in their way. 

** 

Millie was named for the starting XI, and Rachel wasn’t. 

Millie searched Rachel’s face for any sign that she was bothered by this, but she didn’t find any - instead, Rachel seemed excited for her, wrapping her arms around Millie’s waist and hugging her tight. 

“Have fun, alright?” She said, and Millie knew she meant it. “Don’t score any own goals.” 

“I’m not Kyle Walker.” 

“And thank fuck for that,” Rachel laughed, eyes glittering. “Fuck, I’m so nervous for you.” 

“Same,” Millie said. “World Cup, Jesus Christ. Jesus fuck.” 

 

Millie didn’t play the whole 90 minutes, but England beat Scotland 2-1 and the win felt incredible. It was the perfect way to start their campaign, even if it sucked that it was against Scotland, even if it was shit they hadn’t kept a clean sheet. 

When Millie came off she was breathless with adrenaline, jumping from person to person ecstatically, the roar of the crowd heady. Everyone was right - this was different. Something about this was just so, so different. 

Rachel was different, too. She came to Millie with something dark in her eyes, her body held tight like a guitar string. Millie looked at her and tilted her head, a silent question, and Rachel grinned. 

“I’m alright. I’m just so - fucking hell. This is unbelievable, this buzz.” 

 

6.1 million people tuned in to watch them, they were informed later on. None of them could quite believe it, the energy mounting, the tension rising. 

 

That night, when Millie got out of the bathroom, Rachel was already in her bed. Millie tried to act nonchalant about it as she got in too, reaching over Rachel to plug her phone in and folding over the pillow till it was comfortable. 

Rachel was staring at her, still full of the same pent up energy as before, and it was all Millie could do to stare back at her. She didn’t know what the fuck was going on in Rachel’s head, couldn’t have guessed to save her own life. 

She wasn’t expecting it when Rachel moved suddenly, pushing Millie onto her back and slinging her leg over so that was she sat on her lower stomach, her hands pinning Millie’s wrists down. Millie’s mouth ran dry, her heart beating so loud she was sure it could be heard down the corridor. 

Rachel licked her lips, quiet for a moment, then she said “Make a bet with me.” 

Millie nodded slowly, dumbfounded, and Rachel’s mouth tilted up at the side. “If we get to the finals, come and stay with me for a week in the states. We’ll do LA or something, I don’t mind where.” 

“Uh - okay,” Millie croaked, her stomach folding in disappointment when Rachel made to start getting up. She panicked, sitting up on her forearms. “Wait!” 

Rachel looked at her with a frown. “What?” 

“I - what - what do I get? If we make it?” 

“A week in LA with your bestie?” Rachel said, getting off properly and moving towards her own bed. “Isn’t that enough?” 

Dejection unfurled itself through Millie’s body. “Daly,” she said exasperatedly, falling back against the pillows. “C’mon.” 

Rachel flicked the lamp off and got into bed, leaving the room in silence. Millie wasn’t sure how the fuck she was meant to sleep now, not after that, and then Rachel said “If we get to the finals I’ll do anything you want,” quiet enough that Millie would’ve missed it if she’d so much as ruffled the duvet, and well. She was never sleeping now. 

She squeezed her eyelids and her thighs together, buried her face into the pillow, and tried to count backwards from 100 in French. 

** 

Their next game was against Argentina. Neither Millie nor Rachel were chosen to start, and they took their places in the dugout dutifully. There were no egos on the team, not even remotely, and no one begrudged anyone else a bit of game time. 

Still, when Phil told Rachel to get ready because she was going on, neither of them could contain themselves. 

“Oh my god,” Millie said behind her hand, staring at Rachel with wide eyes. “Oh my god. YES!” 

“Shut up,” Rachel said, smiling widely. “Don’t make me cry.” 

“Fuck it up out there,” Millie said. “Do England proud.” 

 

They won 1-0, and if Millie thought Rachel was wound up after the Scotland game, it was nothing compared to this. 

She was scarily quiet, eerily composed. Millie wrapped her in a bear hug after the game but Rachel didn’t react, just patted Millie’s back and moved off to speak to Phil, to chat to the other girls. 

Millie told herself that Rachel would come to her when she was ready, and put her worries to the back of her mind. They were on course to win the group, just like Phil said. Nothing could dampen the mood. 

 

When Millie got back to their room that night, Rachel was nowhere to be seen. She sent her a quick text asking if she was alright and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

Rachel didn’t text her back, but she did come barrelling into the room moments after Millie did, letting the door bang shut loudly. She came into the bathroom and took out her own toothbrush, staring at Millie silently in the mirror. They brushed in unison for a few moments before there was no toothpaste left in Millie’s mouth and she had to leave, had to go and get into bed. She knew instinctively that Rachel wasn’t done with her, not yet, not after the day she’d had. 

When Rachel came out of the bathroom some time later she was practically radiating unspent energy. Millie propped herself up with one arm behind her head and watched as Rachel climbed onto the end of her bed, all tanned firm skin and randomly placed freckles and the occasional tattoo. 

“There a good reason why you’ve been so quiet all day?” 

Rachel responded by scrambling up the length of the bed, sitting close enough to yank the bobble out of Millie’s hair. She fluffed it with her hands, trying to bring order to the perpetual mess of it. 

“I think you’re really fit,” she said, her eyes not quite meeting Millie’s. 

Millie felt her heart swoop, quickly followed by a feeling of guilt. “What about -“ 

Suddenly Rachel leaned in and kissed her, messy and uncoordinated. Millie’s eyes widened, her brain screaming. What about your girlfriend, she wanted to shout, what about that time you rejected me, what what what what, but Rachel was pressing closer, her hands clinging to Millie’s top, her hips pushing against whatever she could find, the whole thing desperate and needy and almost inevitable. 

Millie decided to ignore the voices in her head and throw caution to the wind. She put one hand on Rachel’s face and slowed down the pace, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. Rachel tasted of toothpaste and something else, maybe Diet Coke. Her mouth was so soft and pliant, just like Millie knew it would be, her tongue licking into Millie’s mouth hungrily. 

She was rutting against the air, her body moving in a way so minute that maybe only someone really in tune would notice, someone like a team mate or a best friend or whatever Millie was to her. She took her hand from Rachel’s face and gripped her hips, pulling back from the kiss to catch her breath. 

“You need something more?” Millie said breathlessly, her eyelids fluttering. “Like, do you - are you -“ 

“Yeah,” Rachel said, kissing her again. “Yeah, I need - something, I dunno.” 

“Here,” Millie said, propping her legs apart and bending her knees. “Here, swing your - yeah,” she breathed, as Rachel placed one of her legs between two of Millie’s. 

Millie guided Rachel’s hips down and shuddered at the initial contact, both of them staring down as Rachel let her clit grind down against Millie’s tanned thigh. She was still wearing her underwear - some stupid turquoise Victoria’s Secret thing that Millie assumed she’d gotten in the states - but the friction was enough anyway, enough that Rachel’s mouth dropped open and her head rolled backwards as she brought her hips back and forth in a rhythm. 

Millie squeezed Rachel’s hips tightly, unable to process the fact that this was happening - Rachel was in her bed, getting off against her thigh. Rachel moaned loudly and Millie hissed ‘shhh’ at her, putting a hand on the back of her head and pulling her down so that her face was hidden in Millie’s neck. 

“This how good it feels? Playing in a World Cup?” She said throatily, gathering a handful of Rachel’s hair and tugging on it. “So good you have to fucking hump something?” 

“Shut up,” Rachel breathed, grabbing a handful of Millie’s right boob. “Forgot my vibrator.” 

Millie didn’t grace that with a response, instead tugging on Rachel’s hair again hard enough to elicit a moan. She ran her other hand down the length of her back, reaching down and squeezing an ass cheek, wanting desperately to reposition Rachel so that her thigh was hitting Millie properly, too. She didn’t want to push it, though, wasn’t sure what the fuck this was, so she ignored the quiet thudding in her own vagina and muttered quiet encouragements to Rachel. 

“I can feel how wet you are through those pants,” she said, surprising herself with the things coming out of her mouth. “This might be sexier than topping the group.” 

Rachel laughed and picked up speed, her teeth sinking into the meat of Millie’s shoulder. There would be marks there, without a doubt, and Millie was thrilled by the fact. Rachel was whimpering into her neck, her hips moving back and forth, back and forth, and when Millie pulled on her hair again she gasped, pressing down harder. 

“Gonna come,” she said, pushing hard enough against Millie’s thigh that the bed was squeaking. “So fucking close, babe.” 

“Go on, Daly,” Millie said, breath hitching as Rachel pinched at her nipple. “Come for me, there’s a good girl.” 

Rachel let out a high pitched whine and her hips stilled, her legs twitching against the mattress. Her body fell limp against Millie’s, her breath hot against her neck. Millie trailed her finger tips up and down Rachel’s back, completely and utterly astonished and painfully turned on. She didn’t know what to say so she said nothing, waiting for Rachel’s cue. 

After a few moments Rachel pushed herself up, swinging her legs away from Millie’s and getting unsteadily to her feet. 

“Cheers for that,” she said sheepishly, her cheeks bright pink. “You know how it gets sometimes, with games and that.” Millie watched open mouthed as Rachel got into her own bed and rolled onto her side. “Night, Brighty.” 

Millie felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She gawped at the lump in Rachel’s bed, toying between saying something, getting in beside her, demanding she return the favour. Demanding an answer - had they just cheated? Was this a thing they were going to do now? 

As she worked up the nerve, she heard the faintest sound of Rachel snoring. She’d fucking fallen asleep, sated and tired and, it appeared, thinking of no one but herself. Millie allowed herself a few moments of silent rage, and then she flicked off the light, laying down and staring into the dark room. 

She decided that she couldn’t let this get the better of her. She couldn’t let it affect her game, or her time, or her head. Rachel wouldn’t use her, couldn’t - she was her best friend. Millie had to find a way to be alright, to put this behind them. She had to be nice for the sake of the team and their relationship and bringing the World Cup home. Millie, once again, had to be fucking nice about it. 

She fell asleep thinking that maybe, though - maybe Nice was simply just a place in France.


End file.
